


One Step at a Time

by baloobird



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anti-Starker, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Growing Pains, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Medical Inaccuracies, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Paralysis, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Physical Therapy, Platonic Cuddling, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Ned Leeds, Protective Tony Stark, Recovery, Recovery Inaccuracies, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a Good Dad, Wheelchairs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baloobird/pseuds/baloobird
Summary: A life-altering accident on patrol temporarily leaves Peter in a wheelchair. What happens now? How does he function? What will his recovery entail?With his loved ones by his side, Peter should know better than to get discouraged.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & May Parker (Spider-Man), Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 143





	One Step at a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ethicallama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethicallama/gifts).



> Happy (belated) Birthday to my good friend and almost birthday twin, Sophie!!! 💜💜💜💜💜
> 
> I'm so sorry this is so late but I loved your prompt and I really really really wanted to make this perfect. I hope you like it and I hope you had a great birthday, you deserve it!! And thank you for this amazing idea, I had so much fun with this!!!! 
> 
> I'm not an expert in this field by any means so there's a big chance for inaccuracies, I hope it sounds like it makes sense 😂 I hope all of you guys enjoy!!!
> 
> ***Trigger warning: non-graphic description of violence from a self-inflicted accident, paralysis injury that leads to wheelchair use

The only thing in Peter’s line of sight is the clear blue sky above him.

A direct contrast to what he’s feeling.

His gloved fingertips are rough against the pavement underneath him but he finds solace in it since it’s the only feeling that currently makes sense.

With the rest of his body, however, he doesn’t feel anything.

Which, considering he’s lying on concrete, should be cause for alarm but he’s too out of it to comprehend.

A few passersby block his gaze, towering over him in both fear and confusion.

_ What? Why are they scared, what happened? _

A middle-aged woman pulls out her phone. “I’m calling the police. Just sit tight, Spider-Man, it’s gonna be okay.”

_ Spider-Man? _

Said hero holds up his left hand, noticing the bright red suit with the web design outlined throughout, his black web-shooter.

His web-shooter that isn’t loaded with web fluid.

_ How’d I get here? _

“K…Karen?”

The AI replies in the same soft, robotic tone, unchanging despite the worrisome situation. “Notified Mr. Stark and medbay three minutes ago, they are on their way.”

The sixteen-year-old grunts in response, exhaustion taking over him. The sky is no longer clear with the sudden cloud spots in his peripheral vision.

_ Is _ that the sky or the boy’s dwindling consciousness?

He grunts once again as his hands press against the pavement, using that texture in a last-ditch effort to keep a grip on reality. His eyelids start to droop with sleep but he refuses to succumb to that darkness.

Because what if he doesn’t wake up?

His eyes jolt back open at hearing sirens in the distance, the sound growing louder by the second. More people are towering over him, looking at him in shock, worry, intrigue. He can’t help but flinch at the blinding camera flashes coming from their phones.

_ The Daily Bugle’s gonna have a field day with this one. _

Peter knows he should feel offended by the lack of respect but he can’t find it in himself to care. There’s bigger fish to fry.

Like why the fuck he still can’t feel anything.

The alarms become sharp but the teenager puts his focus on the indistinct yelling he hears in the distance. Like with the sirens, the sound grows louder as it gets closer. It’s not until this man is in Peter’s line of sight before relief washes over the hero, the first time in what feels like hours that there is a chance he might be okay.

Because Iron Man stands before him.

And Iron Man can fix anything.

Tony kneels next to his kid, his face blocking everyone else’s and their damn camera flashes. He ever so gently tilts Peter’s head toward him, adjusting the mask that must’ve gotten crooked due to whatever the teen got himself into.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s gonna be okay,” the billionaire says softly, “They’re almost here and we’re gonna get you all fixed up.” He smiles down at the tyke, cupping the back of his head so he doesn’t have to rest on the concrete. “FRIDAY?”

The man remains silent for the next few moments, probably so his own AI can scan the kid. Tony’s expression then turns grim but for only a split second before that kind smile makes another appearance.

“That was one hell of a hit you took back there, huh?” he says.

“Hit?” Peter asks, his voice not able to emit more than a mumble. “Wh’t—?”

His father figure quickly shushes him. “Hey, it’s alright, they just got here. You’re gonna get fixed up in no time, okay?”

_ But— _

_ But there’s no web fluid. _

Panic rises in the boy and he finds himself having to take deep breaths. His stomach grumbles with nausea while his chest is stiff against his suit.

_ What happened? _

_ What the fuck happened?! _

His suit is too tight. He wants to take off the suit and his mask, he will suffocate and  _ die _ if he doesn’t take everything off in the next five seconds.

The young hero’s hand goes to the spider emblem on his chest, ready to loosen the material but his mentor’s hand stops him, gripping the glove and giving it a firm squeeze. “Not yet, not yet,” Tony says, “They’re here, they’ll take everything off in a second, just hang on one second.”

Low and behold, Peter sees the paramedics out of the corner of his eye, their faces neutral but sympathetic as they rush toward him. While they gently move him onto a gurney, the boy notices the Stark Industries logo on their shirts and attempts to let himself relax. 

At least his identity is still intact.

Peter looks back at his hero to find that he’s not there.

For the second time, his hand goes to that emblem, his fingers shaking in anxiety because  _ where the fuck is Iron Man? _

He needs Iron Man.

Iron Man will make everything okay.

The boy refrains from taking off his suit as he’s wheeled into the ambulance. Right before the doors close, his prayers have been answered.

Iron Man climbs into the vehicle.

He sits right next to his kid and quickly grabs the hand that’s over the spider logo. When those doors finally close, he damn near rips the mask off the tyke’s head and Peter finally takes a full breath of air.

One of the paramedics presses the emblem on the suit and with the help of Tony, they pull off the material and toss it to the side, with Peter not giving a damn that he’s now only clad in his boxers.

In fact, he’s getting quite tired, so much so that he doesn’t realize the sudden chill or the IV the EMT is injecting into his other arm.

He gives the older man’s hand a light squeeze in a futile attempt to calm himself down. Tony gives him another smile, his expression seemingly soft but there’s panic in his eyes and his kid just wants that to go away. 

_ What does Iron Man have to be scared of? _

The mechanic ruffles the other’s hair and gives him words of encouragement that slowly turn into inaudible mutterings as the teenager’s eyes droop with exhaustion.

Tony kissing the top of his head is the last thing Peter sees before his world finally goes black.

-

It takes Peter a second to realize where he is when he comes to.

The sterile white walls with a mounted TV, the cart containing various medical supplies, and most notably, the uncomfortable cot he’s laying on.

_ Another fucking hospital room. _

He sees his aunt and father figure both asleep chairs on either side of his bed, their heads laying atop crossed arms right next to the boy’s knees.

Peter can’t help but smile.

_ They really risked walking like hunchbacks today so I won’t be alone. _

The teen reaches out and rubs his loved ones’ shoulders. This feels weird in a way, since it’s always the other way around.

But that’s exactly why it feels right at the same time.

Peter continues this even after they start waking up. Tony is still resting on his crossed arms when he looks up at his kid, his smile so soft that no tabloid in the universe could ever capture.

But there’s still fear in his eyes.

“‘Mornin’,” the scientist says with a yawn, grunting as he sits up and stretches his back. “Sleep good?”

“I guess?” His protege takes another look around the crisp, clean room. “But how’d I get here, what happened?”

“That,” May mumbles, rubbing her eyes as she slowly starts to sit up as well, “Is a good question.”

The scientist’s expression falls. “Bruce can explain it better than I can, he hasn’t told me much of anything.” He presses a button on one of the kid’s monitors, probably to signal said doctor. “Do you remember anything about yesterday?”

Peter looks around the room once again, using the miscellaneous items to help his thought process. “Um,” he starts, his face scrunching in concentration, “Flashing lights?”

The memory is blurry but he still sees it regardless, the seemingly endless camera flashes, the people huddling over him like he’s a strewn twenty-dollar bill.

Not his best day by any means.

“Anything else, sweetie?” May asks. She grabs her nephew’s hand and gives it a comforting squeeze, being mindful of the IV that’s still in the young genius’s hand. 

Tony grabs the tyke’s other hand and uses his thumb to softly rub the back of it. “Anything before the camera flashes?” he adds on.

The tyke thinks long and hard, his mind desperately trying to cling onto something that could explain what led to this predicament.

“I mean,” he says, giving his guardians’ hands a squeeze of his own, “I thought everything was supposed to hurt but I didn’t feel anything—”

He cuts himself off with a gasp, his gaze locked onto the lower half of his body that is covered with blankets. 

“Peter?” his father figure asks but said hero didn’t hear him.

He’s too busy trying to will his lower region to move.

Panic once again fills the teen’s chest. He can’t feel his legs.

He couldn’t feel his legs earlier and he can’t feel them now.

And he’s using every muscle he can to get his feet to shift, wiggle, flinch,  _ something. _

_ C’mon, one inch, just one centimeter, Parker. _

_ Because my legs still work, damn it. _

He grunts once again, his gaze locked on his feet in so much concentration that he gives himself a headache. An uncontrollable whimper escapes him at realizing he’s losing this battle with himself.

He can’t move his feet.

He can’t move his legs.

And he doesn’t know why.

Peter swallows a lump in his throat, finding himself taking deep breaths to accommodate his rapidly beating chest. His grip on the others’ hands tighten and his vision is going blurry with tears of pure terror.

"Wha-" he starts but his aunt cuts him off with a light shush.

"It's okay, baby," May says, lightly kissing the top of his head, "You're okay." She's still softly shushing him as Tony guides his kid's head to rest against his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

“But I,” the spiderling mumbles, taking another deep breath in an attempt to control his breathing, “I-I-I—”

Both adults cut him off with another round of light shushing. Between the warmth of his father figure’s embrace and the softness of his aunt’s kisses, Peter knows this should make him feel better but it doesn’t. 

Half of his body isn’t working. What could possibly be done to make him feel better?

The loud thumps of his beating chest echo in his ears, going at such speed that he wonders if his heart will burst right out of his body.

Suddenly, a string of unwelcome images floats through the teen’s head: putting away his Spider-Man suit, dejectedly looking up at a flight of stairs, his wheelchair knocking over someone because they didn’t see him.

And so,  _ so _ many more “new normals.”

An uncontrollable sob escapes the spiderling, his blurry vision still locked onto his unmoving feet. His loved ones work their magic to keep him as calm as can be but his panicked breaths prove it doesn’t work.

“Peter,” May says, attempting to soothe him by rubbing his back, “It’s gonna be okay—”

Her nephew cuts her off with a whimper, slowly shaking his head in disagreement.

_ How? _

_ How am I gonna be okay? _

“Yes you will, sweetie,” May continues, nodding her head to counter her kid’s shake, “If I have anything to say, you will, I know it.”

“But—”

“I know it’s a lot, kiddo,” Tony says, “But we’re gonna be right here, okay? Every step of the way, we’re right here with you.”

_ But what do they mean? _

_ How’d I get here? _

Iron Man’s voice snaps him out of his stupor. “It’s gonna take some getting used to but you’ll be a pro before you know it.”

_ Pro at what? _

“What,” Peter starts, taking a deep breath to keep himself from bursting into tears, “What-what happened?”

He looks up to see his hero giving May an unreadable expression, his aunt no doubt responding with one of her own.

If only Spider-Man can read minds.

Tony lets go of the kid and settles back into his chair, giving Peter a clear line of sight to both of his loved ones. The teen quickly grabs onto the other’s hand, not ready to let go of that warmth.

“Uh,” May says, continuing to rub his back in soft circles, “Do you want us to tell you or…” she trails off as she gives the other grown-up a worried look, clear hesitation shown in her eyes.

“Or would you rather  _ see _ what happened?” Tony finishes, looking back at her while giving the boy’s hand a light squeeze.

Peter’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Karen got everything?”

_ “Everything, _ FRIDAY has it all saved. So, what d’ya say?”

The teenager takes a good look at both of his guardians, neither one’s expressions showing which route he should choose.

What will lessen the blow: watching what led him to this impossible situation or have them give him a vague, non-graphic rendition of it?

Obviously, Peter doesn’t want to see what happened but if they tell him a shortened version, he fears he might just live in a constant state of denial until he explodes.

“I wanna see it,” he says, making an impulse decision to keep from changing his mind.

“Peter, honey,” May says, gripping his other hand once again, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea—”

“But I have to know, May,” the spider-boy says, tightening his grip on the others’ hands so his own don’t tremble. “If I don’t see what happened, I just, I don’t know, I just need to see it.”

_ I need to see it or I won’t stop thinking about it. _

_ I mean, I won’t anyway but at least I’ll be thinking about it correctly. _

“Tony,” May says, “I don’t like this—”

“But if he wants to see it, I’m not gonna stop him, May. It’s up to him.” Said man turns back to his kid. “You sure you wanna do this, kiddo? It’s okay if you don’t, it doesn’t make you any less of a badass—”

“No, I know, but still. It’s gonna keep haunting me regardless, might as well see it.”

May and Tony look at each other once again, their stoic faces not giving their kid any clue as to what they’re thinking.

Finally, after a grave nod from May, the billionaire has FRIDAY turn on the TV on the opposite wall. The first to pop up on the screen is a bird’s-eye view of Queens straight from the superhero’s eyes.

It’s kind of surreal, watching his past self like this. They follow Spider-Man’s line of sight as he looks down a forty-story building, seeing ant-sized people walking or jogging,  _ Hot Wheels_-sized cars starting and stopping on the road. 

Just another day on patrol.

Spider-Man’s arm comes into view and a line of webbing shoots out of his web-shooter. When it sticks to the building across from him, he jumps, swinging through the air like nothing in the world can stop him.

Nothing stops him when he swings toward another building. Then another, and another, and another.

But then his web-shooter runs out of its fuel.

And suddenly, those cars become bigger than  _ Hot Wheels. _

Peter can’t help but look away from the screen, wincing as his alter ego’s screams echo through the hospital room. His loved ones start rubbing his arms that have become so stiff with goosebumps that he feels like a human pickle. His fingers are trembling as he dreads the inevitable.

He was falling at least thirty stories high.

He’s got to land sometime.

The boy feels his mentor tighten his grip so he holds his breath, flinching as he hears the vigilante fall on the ground with the most unsatisfying thud.

Except it wasn’t a thud. The sound was more of a bang.

As if he hit metal.

With his eyes narrowed in confusion, Peter looks back up at the screen just in time for Spider-Man to roll and land on the pavement, this time with an actual thud.

His past self’s gaze turns to a car’s front bumper and its respective wheel. 

A  _ dented _ front bumper.

Suggesting that Peter was hit by a car.

_ Wow, “Parker Luck” sure took a fucking hit. _

But the kid is confused all the same. He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t realize FRIDAY turned off the TV just when the vigilante’s sight turns toward the sky. It takes his aunt shaking his arm to snap him back to reality.

“Peter?” May says, “Peter, honey, it’s okay—”

“But what happened though?” The spiderling continues sporting that same expression as he looks back and forth between his loved ones. “I’ve been hit by a car before and it’s never done  _ that.” _ He gestures to his stationary limbs. “What happened this time for this to happen?”

A voice coming from neither adult pipes up from the doorway. “And that is what I’m here to discuss.”

All three parties turn to see Bruce Banner walk into the room and close the door behind him. He’s clad in his usual lab coat and is carrying a clipboard holding what Peter guesses is his paperwork.

_ How is that not the size of a fucking book by now? _

The doctor walks to his patient and stands next to the hospital bed, taking Tony’s spot when he scoots out of the way. He then says with a kind smile, “Hey, Peter, how’re you feeling?”

“Um.” Said teen stares down at his lower half. “I’ve been better.”

Bruce’s expression turns sympathetic. “I know all this seems scary but I can assure you, this is not forever.”

“Bruce,” Tony says, giving him an incredulous look, “Don’t get his hopes up—”

“I’m not, I would never make promises like this unless I know for a fact that they’re true.”

“So, this, what’s happened,” May says, “He’s not gonna stay like this?”

“No.” Bruce puts his focus back on the kid. “Peter, you won’t stay like this forever.”

The spiderling sighs relievedly, still staring at his feet. “But what happened, how long am I gonna be like this?”

“One step at a time, kiddo,” Tony says, “Bruce will tell you all you need to know.”

“So,” Bruce starts, periodically looking from the Parkers to his clipboard, “Last I heard, you were wondering why getting hit by a car affected you this time? Instead of the other times?”

Peter nods his head. “I’ve been hit by a car before and it’s never done this. Did I hit it wrong or something?”

“Actually, yes. The car hit you right at the base of your spine and since you were falling at maximum velocity, that has led to a paralysis that we call ‘incomplete paraplegia.’”

_ Holy shit, there’s a name for this? _

“This is just,” May says, her eyes widening in shock, “Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Banner, I’m ecstatic that this is temporary but-but how? Paraplegia is very serious, how is his injury not worse than what it sounds?”

“He has his enhanced healing to thank for that. If it wasn’t for his powers,” Bruce hesitates for a few seconds, “He would not be able to walk again. I don’t think he would’ve even survived it.”

Those goosebumps make another appearance and the young hero gingerly rubs his arms to try and abate them. 

So without his powers, Peter could have  _ died, _ died over something as stupid as running out of web fluid. 

He stares back down at his feet, focusing on them in a new light. 

_ Bruce said this isn’t forever. _

_ So that means I can fix this. _

_ Spider-Man is going to fucking fix this. _

Bruce continues, “Thankfully, this is temporary but it will take some time to heal, this won’t be like a simple scratch that heals in a few hours. I’m predicting that this will take at least six months.”

Peter’s jaw drops to the floor.

_ Six months? _

_ I can’t walk for six months? _

_ I gotta go to school in a wheelchair for  _ six _ months?! _

“Since this is  _ ‘incomplete _ paraplegia’,” the doctor adds on, “You have undamaged neural pathways, meaning you still have some functionality and that’s a good sign, Peter. We can start conducting physical therapy once you rest up, it will help you regain movement in your legs.”

The next few moments pass in uneasy silence as they all take everything in. This doesn’t make any sense, how can Peter be fine a few hours ago and then this happens in the blink of an eye?

His loved ones are right there once again, giving him hugs, forehead kisses, backrubs, doing everything they can to keep the tyke from falling apart.

Yet Peter isn’t freaking out, at least not on the outside.

In actuality, he’s just…numb, and not in the literal sense.

He needs time to process but he doesn’t have any because it’s all happening  _ right now. _ Peter has to learn how to use a wheelchair, how to go to bed, change clothes, and most embarrassingly, how to use the bathroom.

The boy feels his aunt’s soft touch, her gentle hand tilting his chin toward her. Her eyes look hopeful but sadness lingers despite how hard she’s trying to mask it with her smile.

“It’s all gonna be okay, baby,” May says, lightly kissing his forehead, “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay.”

Despite everything, Peter manages to smile.

Because his aunt told him he’ll be okay.

And when has Aunt May ever steered him wrong?

-

Peter takes off school for the next two weeks. During that time, the incident with Spider-Man made national news and if the school found out Peter Parker got injured at the same time, it could raise suspicion. 

But the most important reason for the absence is to get accumulated to his new life for the next six months.

Tony wanted to get him a scooter rather than a manual wheelchair for easier maneuvering but Bruce advised against it, bringing up a valid point about Peter putting in work that will help with physical therapy. With their help, Peter learns how to steer the wheelchair, lock it into place, and make sharp turns around any corners. 

Bruce introduces a smooth plank called a "transfer board" that will help Peter transfer from his bed to his chair. He won't need to use it forever, just until he gets used to the movements where he can transfer by himself.

He and May go through a bit of an “obstacle course” in their apartment and Tony moved the furniture accordingly to create all the necessary paths, thus leading to an impromptu case of “feng shui.”

From there, the teenager learns all the basics: how to change clothes and use the bathroom without help, bathing himself while using a shower chair that Tony bought, even just getting a bowl of cereal has a learning curve considering he has to sit the bowl in his lap to pour the milk.

The physical therapy starts out boring and tedious with just Bruce stretching his legs but Peter bites his tongue. He keeps telling himself that it has to start slow or the therapy won’t work, and it could leave his legs worse than they were before.

But all the same, everything simply  _ sucks. _

May called the school and made up a story about how she and Peter were in a car accident that led to an injury in the younger Parker’s legs, letting them know that her nephew will have to be in a wheelchair temporarily until he heals.

The child himself is in his room while his guardian is making that call. His face scrunches up in annoyance as reality hits him like a train.

He’ll have to go to school like this.

He has to face his peers like this.

Everyone’s going to have to look at him like  _ this. _

What will everyone think? How will they react? Are they just going to stare at him like the people at the grocery store did yesterday?

Will the other students just see him as this poor, pitiful toy that has to be kept in a glass case for all of eternity?

Peter hurriedly turns from his bedroom doorway and wheels toward his bed, picking up his decade-old Iron Man teddy bear and squeezing it, his arms wrapped so tight around the plushie that it acts as his lifeforce.

_ It’s gonna be fine. _

_ I’m gonna be fine. _

_ It’s alllllll gonna be fine. _

-

Peter is already sick of the pity looks, and this one from his best friend is no exception.

When the Parkers get settled back into their apartment, Ned stops by the following day after school to give his friend a rundown of all the homework he’s missed.

Ned, of course, knows what happened. Peter told him on the phone while he was still in medbay, but his best friend looking at him with such devastation has put the hero in a somber mood. 

The logical part of his brain knows Ned means well, and he loves how much his friend cares about him but being looked at like  _ that? _ Peter now feels the size of a newborn kitten.

“So, y’know you gotta make up that test in biology,” Ned says, following his friend to his room, “And I’m sorry in advance for the math homework.”

“Why?”

“‘Cuz there’s so damn much of it.”

Peter sighs despairingly, turning his chair around so he can face his friend. “The joys of being out forever, I guess.”

The sidekick sets the textbooks and miscellaneous worksheets on the other’s desk before plopping onto the bed, giving him another look of pity that gives the hero the urge to puke.

“So, uh,” the spider-boy starts, gaze locked onto his lap to avoid looking at his friend’s face, “How’s school and stuff? You good?”

“Yeah, same old, same old,” Ned says with a shrug, “You’re still coming back Monday, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter drawls, “Not exactly looking forward to it.”

“‘Cuz of stuff you gotta get used to?”

“And the other people getting used to  _ me. _ Flash is gonna love this—”

“I’ll kill him—”

“There’s no point when he’s just gonna come back to life like Voldemort and make our lives even worse,” Peter says with a grunt.

“But still, even  _ he _ knows it’s fucked up to make fun of someone in a wheelchair. If nothing else, he knows about karma.”

“Maybe.” The hero shrugs himself. “I’m just hoping these next six months will go by as fast as possible.”

“Me too. And hey, y’know I’ll be here if you need help or anything—”

“No.”

“What?”

“We’re not doing that shit.” Peter wheels himself to the edge of the bed, right across from his confused best friend. “You gotta promise me something.”

“Uh, yeah man, anything.”

“Don’t treat me any differently just because my legs aren’t working.”

Now Ned looks even more confused, his expression borderline offended. “You know I won’t—”

“But you already do.” Peter sighs, scratching the backs of his hands in nervousness. “And you don’t even know it.”

“I—” his friend cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, “I don’t know what you want me to do, man. I get you don’t wanna be treated differently but you  _ are _ different right now, I’d be an asshole to not acknowledge it. I’m not saying you gotta be treated like a puppy but  _ you _ really gotta swallow your pride too.”

_ Oh, shit. _

“But—”

“Peter, I’m your best friend, I don’t care if you have no legs or five but I  _ do _ care about what happened that put you there.” Ned points to the chair in question. “So,  _ Spider-Man, _ you gonna swallow your pride and ask for help if you need it?”

_ Did he turn the tables or what? _

“Uh,” Peter starts, his brain short-circuiting from the unexpected confrontation, “I guess?”

“Dude.” The other teenager playfully rolls his eyes. “You can ask for help, you can ask  _ me _ for help, you know I’m not going anywhere—”

_ “Fine,” _ the hero finally says, giving the other an unamused look, “On one condition.”

“What?”

“That you stop looking at me like that.”

Ned’s face scrunches in more confusion, once again. “Like what?”

“Like what you’re doing now!” Peter grunts in annoyance. “You’re looking at me like I’m gonna fall over any second, I don’t like that shit, I’m not putting up with that shit.” With a deep breath, he concludes, “So stop looking at me like that—”

“Okay yeah, I’ll stop, that’d get annoying but you gotta give me a break here too, man, this is the first time I’m seeing you like this. It’s…well, I didn’t know what to expect, okay?”

“Okay, fair,” the hero says, wheeling himself a few inches away from his friend. “Sorry, but you’re gonna be kinda bored, I have so much shit to do.” He tilts his head to the tortuous stack of textbooks.

“Dude, I asked you if you needed help with anything—”

“I’m not gonna make you do my homework—”

“But it’s not making if I’m  _ offering.” _

Peter’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You serious? But you have your own shit to do—”

“That won’t take near as long as yours,” Ned says, “And most of it’s not even hard, it’s just tedious. So,” he gives the other a knowing smirk, “What d’ya say?”

His best friend releases a hearty chuckle, not believing what he’s hearing. “I say I have the best ‘Guy in the Chair’ anyone can ask for.”

-

No handbook or Youtube video in the world could have prepared Peter for going back to school.

The school itself is easy enough to maneuver, with the mandatory regulations such as ramps, elevators, and wide doorways that were put in when the school was built.

What isn’t easy, however, are the stares.

Peter thinks back to when Ned stopped by to drop off his missed schoolwork, the pitiful look in his eyes at seeing his friend who is so different now than he was before.

And now, everyone at school is looking at him the same way, hundreds of Neds staring at him with those looks of pity, devastation, confusion.

A pit of nausea blooms deep into the hero’s gut as he wheels as fast as he can to his homeroom. His gaze is locked on the floor between his feet and only his feet, going by the assumption that everyone will jump ten feet in the air to get out of his way.

And that they did.

Like Ned suspected, Flash hasn’t said a word, not even a laugh.

Karma is a real thing, after all.

Fortunately, as the weeks go by, those stares become minimal the more everyone gets used to it. Peter can do his studies just fine despite his books falling off his lap when he makes too sharp of a turn or accidentally knocking over his desk when a wheel collides with one of the legs.

But every time something embarrassing happens, his best friend is right there to fix it.

Ned has been his rock, he even jokingly said that the roles are reversed with Peter as the “Guy in the Chair” while his friend has become “Spider-Man 2.0”

The sidekick turned hero sticks to his word and has refrained from giving any more pitiful looks that he knows his best friend can’t stand. Also, he’s helped Peter carry his books for him, or his lunch tray, even grabbed the wheelchair itself and helped position it in front of a desk so it won’t fall over again.

Not to mention all the dirty looks Ned’s given people who get too nosy and ask questions.

On the one hand, everyone has a right to know what happened, so when people do ask, Peter sticks to the same story he’s discussed with May and Tony: he and May got in a car accident and Peter has to be in a wheelchair until his wounds heal.

Funny enough, it’s not the biggest lie he’s told.

One day, a couple of months after starting back to school, there’s a breakthrough.

Peter can wiggle his toes.

He can  _ feel _ his toes.

The entire day at school, the teen has a seemingly permanent smile on his face, endlessly wiggling his toes and never wanting that feeling to stop.

Finally, all the work Peter is doing is worth it.

Finally, the reality is setting in that this won’t actually last forever.

And finally, Spider-Man has hope.

-

Physical therapy is becoming too much for Peter.

Over the next few months, he’s slowly starting to develop feelings in his legs which is great progress but it does come at a price.

Gaining feeling also equates to an influx of  _ pain. _

He’s increased his physical therapy due to him slowly gaining his strength back and each session leaves him with more soreness than the last, too stubborn to let his body rest a few days so his body can get acclimated.

And on this particular morning, it’s taking every ounce of strength in him to simply get out of bed.

What’s become second nature is now the most strenuous of chores. The teenager can’t control the wincing as he transfers from his bed to his chair, taking a few deep breaths before he slowly wheels to the bathroom and completes his morning routine.

Peter ends up having to ask May to pour his cereal because of the growing weakness in his arms, letting them hang limply to preserve his strength as much as he can.

“Honey, you look kinda tired,” May says. She walks over to the table with a full bowl of cereal and carefully sets it in front of her nephew, ruffling his hair in a loving gesture. “You feeling okay?”

Said boy immediately digs into his breakfast, his growing appetite winning out over the pain and fatigue of everywhere else. “Just didn’t sleep good last night,” he says.

It’s true, the soreness from his enhanced healing left him little room to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. When he finally did, it felt like only a minute had passed before his alarm blared on his phone.

He can’t help but bask in his aunt’s touch, the maternal warmth smothering him whole as she starts lovingly rubbing his back. 

Peter wants the day off.

Not just from school but physical therapy as well. He wants to do nothing except rest and give his body some time to heal.

But he’s too damn stubborn.

He can imagine the look on his guardian’s face if he were to admit his plight, the way her face would tense with worry, along with the pitiful expressions he’s gotten from  _ everyone _ in the last several months.

Today would be no different, and does he want to see that the whole day? And what if May tells Tony? He’s just going to get the same look from Iron Man which is so much worse because he’s  _ Iron Man. _

So, no, he won’t say anything. He’ll get through today and it will be just fine.

He’s telling himself that as he finishes his breakfast, the phrase “I’ll be fine” repeating itself like a broken record as the teen gives his aunt a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

He’s even thinking about it while waiting for the subway, using the “mind over matter” approach that as long as he doesn’t complain about it, then the pain will go away and everything will be fine.

_ So stop thinking about it, dumbass. _

-

By fourth period, Peter is worse off than before he left the apartment.

_ I think God is killing me. _

Due to his diminishing energy, it’s taken him twice as long to wheel from class to class and with that, his arms feel the equivalent of room-temperature jello: weak, numb, and will fall to pieces any second.

The pain has only worsened thanks to not resting like his body needs. There are even times throughout the day where Peter can feel his legs shake under the aches and cramping sensations.

To make things even worse:

He has to use the bathroom.

Not badly, it’s not an emergency. If he wasn’t in a wheelchair, this wouldn’t be a big deal but considering it takes him a few extra minutes to position himself, doing it sooner rather than later is a guarantee that it won’t lead to disastrous consequences.

But that’s not his concern.

This time, he needs Ned’s help.

His best friend has helped so much with carrying his books, his backpack, or steering his chair around a sharp corner but not once has Peter ever needed his help to use the bathroom. It was mortifying enough having Tony and May help him when he was first learning how to use the wheelchair, he made sure to master that routine  _ very _ quickly.

Today, however, are his arms strong enough to transfer him from his chair to the toilet? Do his muscles have enough strength to push himself to simply pull down his pants?

He honestly has no clue and he’s terrified.

God, he can feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment already and English class is only halfway over.

_ Maybe I don’t need Ned’s help and I’m just paranoid. _

_ Or he could just...stand outside or something. _

_ Or I could just yeet myself off the roof and never have to pee ever again ‘cuz I’ll be dead. _

Peter spends the rest of class in his head, going through the different scenarios of how to approach this with his anxiety growing at each passing second. How does someone ask their best friend to help them pee?

_ Asking for a friend. _

He’s tempted to just wait until he gets home after school. If positioning doesn’t go his way, he’d at least be in the privacy of his own home but it’s still too early in the school day, there’s no way he can wait for several more hours.

Peter flinches when the bell rings, not realizing it’s the end of class. With a despairing sigh, he puts his books in his backpack and rests the straps over the back of the chair, following his friend out of the classroom and towards the cafeteria. He can tell Ned is purposely walking slower than usual because of the pace the hero himself is going, the strength in his arms rapidly declining to the point where it’s almost taking a toll on him.

They’re just passing the bathrooms when Peter decides to swallow his pride. “Ned?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Said kid turns to him, his eyes narrowing at the no doubt dreadful look on his best friend’s face. “Are you okay, man? You’ve been off all day—”

“I have to pee,” Peter interjects, tilting his head toward the boys’ room door.

“Okay.” Ned gestures toward the direction of the cafeteria. “I’ll meet you there—”

“No—” The other genius cuts him off with a frustrated groan. He can’t imagine how red his cheeks must be considering how warm he feels. “I—can you come with me? Please?”

The sidekick’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Uh, yeah sure. For real, are you okay?”

_ I have no fucking idea. _

“I don’t know,” the spiderling mutters, turning his chair toward the bathroom door. “I might need help,” he shamefully admits.

“Oh.” Ned fidgets with the straps of his backpack, no doubt uncomfortable at what his friend is insinuating.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, humiliation filling him thus causing him to take back what he’s asking. “Look, I’ll be fine, I’m just being paranoid—”

“Dude, stop.” His friend walks to the door and holds it open for him. “If you think you need help then you probably do. But why now?”

“It’s a long story.”

-

“Y’know, man, for someone as smart as you, you really are a dumbass—”

“Ned, can you hold off the name-calling until  _ after _ you leave the stall? This is already mortifying as it is.”

The two teens are in the handicapped stall of the boys’ bathroom. They’re alone, thankfully, since they made sure everyone had already left before they went in.

“Okay, okay,” Ned says, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Um...” Peter hesitates for a moment while he locks his wheelchair into place, so embarrassed that he’s struggling to get his words out. “I need you to help me move to the toilet. M-My arms, they’re pretty weak right now, I don’t know if I can—”

“We’re  _ so _ talking about that later. So that’s it?”

“Yeah, until I’m done, then I need you to move me back to the chair.”

“Okay,” Ned says with a shrug.

His friend gives him a bewildered expression. “How are you so cool about this?”

“I’m just moving you, it’s not like you need me to, uh, do anything else.”

_ Thank fuck. _

“Okay,” Peter says with finality, lowering each of his armrests, “On the count of three?”

“Yeah.”

With Ned’s help, the hero is moved to where he’s supposed to be. It wasn’t exactly graceful but he’s there and that’s what matters.

The “Guy in the Chair'' then leaves the stall and puts his hand over the door to keep it closed, leaving Peter by himself to finish the task at hand. He unbuttons his jeans and starts to push himself up so he could pull them down but he plops back onto the seat with an audible gasp.

His legs are spasming again, both calf muscles contracting with a seemingly unending bout of Charley horse. He covers his mouth to keep from releasing any outbursts, hoping that Ned is none the wiser.

An ever so slight whimper escapes him, leading him to take deep breaths in an attempt to keep himself quiet and calm.

_ It’ll pass. _

_ It always passes. _

But it doesn’t, not even after a full twenty seconds of just sitting there, and he can’t wait much longer due to the growing pressure in his bladder so he has to bite his tongue and go for it.

After taking a few more deep breaths, Peter pushes himself again and this time, it’s successful. When he sits back down, he takes a glance at his hands and another gasp escapes him.

They’re shaking.

This kind of trembling isn’t like when his anxiety would get out of whack, his hands are at their limit. The uncontrollable jerks are his body’s way of telling him, “We literally can’t function if you don’t stop this bullshit.”

_ Okay. _

_ Maybe I shouldn’t’ve come to school today. _

Peter tightly grips onto both of his kneecaps in an effort to slow the shaking and it does…as long as he doesn’t let go.

After he’s done, he takes a deep breath while he cleans himself up, thinking that if he cuts off air circulation to the brain for a few seconds then the pain and shakiness will lessen. It doesn’t, of course, but it’s worth a try anyway.

Now here comes the worst part:

He has to repeat this process to pull his pants back up.

_ I’m gonna die, I’m going to actually die. _

_ And y’know what? _

_ I welcome it with open arms. _

_ That is if I can even  _ lift _ my fucking useless arms. _

Between his cramping legs, shaking hands, and now his bottom is sore since it slammed on a hard surface twice in ten minutes, it’d be a miracle if he doesn’t pass out before he leaves the bathroom.

Finally, after taking more deep breaths, he decides to go for it and the third time is the charm.

But not without crying out in agony.

“Peter, you okay?” Ned asks, “Can I come in?”

Said boy takes almost a minute to rebutton his jeans, responding with a tired but high-pitched “Yeah” when everything is finally over.

Ned opens the stall door, a look of horror shown on his face when he catches sight of his friend. “Peter, what the fuck?!”

“That bad—?”

“Dude, you literally look like you’re about to fall over, what happened? Are you sick or something?”

Peter can only imagine how he must look: the sweat in his brow, heat in his cheeks, the way his legs won’t stop throbbing and he can’t still his hands no matter how hard he tries.

Yeah, he’s probably looked better.

“Uh,” said teen stammers, “I don’t know?”

“For fuck’s sake, dude.”

On another count of three, Ned moves his friend to the wheelchair. He unfolds the footrests and unlocks the chair before he steers it in front of a sink. After Peter washes his hands, the other teen pushes the chair out of the bathroom.

“Ned?” Peter turns slightly in his seat and gives his friend a look of confusion. “I can do this, I’m capable—”

“Are you kidding me right now? How can you hold a bottle of water let alone steer this thing?”

The web-slinger slumps in his chair with a huff but he doesn’t say anything either. He takes another look at his trembling hands and  _ okay, _ the guy has a point. He’d be surprised if he could legibly write his name on a worksheet.

A growl in his stomach alerts him to the present.

Ned isn’t going to the cafeteria.

“Uh, Ned?” The other genius turns once again in his chair. “Lunchroom’s the other way.”

“We’re not going to the lunchroom.”

“Dude, what the fuck—”

“School policy: If you don’t have enough strength to hold a milk carton, you shouldn’t be here.”

“What school handbook is that in?” Peter says with a scoff, slumping back in his chair in defeat.

_ Because it’s true. _

_ I don’t think I can hold a milk carton. _

“My ‘Declassified School Survival Guide’,” Ned says with a chuckle, “It comes right after the part about how to ask for help when your dumbass needs it.”

“I must’ve gotten the abridged copy.”

Both of them get into a giggle fit, to Peter’s light surprise. Ned soon takes him through the door of the nurses’ office, already addressing the issues to who’s in charge before his friend can open his mouth.

Peter is then stretched out on a hospital cot. His enhanced hearing catches the nurse calling Tony and telling him his kid needs to be picked up.

He can’t help but sigh in relief, both at the fact that he’s going home soon and who knew stretching out would help?

It doesn’t abate the problem by any means, but stretching does ease up the throbbing so it’s better than nothing.

“Hey, man,” Ned says, standing next to the bed to keep in his hero’s line of sight, “You gonna be okay and stuff—”

Peter cuts him off with a weak grip of his forearm. “Please stay,” he says, almost in a croak given his current predicament.

He doesn’t know why this sudden fear strikes through him but it does. The thought of being alone with his joints barely functioning makes him feel vulnerable, helpless, mortified even. If a loved one were to stand by, it doesn’t sound as daunting to be susceptible to harm.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ned says softly. He grabs a nearby chair and drags it toward the cot before sitting next to his friend’s head. “You’re gonna be fine, Mr. Stark’s on the way.”

“I know, I know but, um.” Peter’s eyes sweep the room, taking note of the anatomy posters, medical cart, the doorway to the main office where he can faintly hear the nurse talking to someone else on the phone. “Everything feels too weird,” he concludes.

A faint growl is then heard but it’s not coming from the overly metabolized hero. “Shit, it’s still lunch,” Peter says, “Ned, you can go, it’s fine—”

“Relax, it’s not that bad. I’ll just get a note anyway and eat during the next class.”

“You can do that? And it won’t be weird?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s better than starving to death.”

A louder grumble erupts from the spiderling’s stomach and he weakly wraps an arm around the organ, smiling in slight embarrassment. “I know what you mean.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Peter nods his head against the stiff pillow beneath him. “Yeah, Mr. Stark’ll get me something, I’m sure.” He smiles at his best friend, grabbing his hand and giving it the loosest squeeze imaginable. “Thank you, for staying, for all this. You’re right, I should’ve just stayed home.”

“But still, you didn’t know it was gonna be this bad.” Ned squeezes back but not near tight enough to feel any pressure. 

“Dude, you literally just called me a ‘dumbass’—”

“Oh, you are, without a doubt,” the sidekick snorts, “But I get where you’re coming from.”

A light chuckle escapes the other student. “Only you can call me a ‘dumbass’ and still somehow not make it an insult.”

“It’s called the ‘best friend-level’ insult: it’s an insult to everyone except the best friend. It’s like a hidden secret code that makes everyone question why you’re best friends with this asshole.”

“Oh, is that in your ‘school survival’ thingy too?” Peter says with a slight giggle.

“So you  _ have _ read it?” Ned says sarcastically, “Chapter five, right under the  _ so _ relatable section called ‘How to Be Friends With a Superhero.’”

“For starters, you put that shit in chapter one. I’m offended—”

“Like you need any more spotlight.”

Both of them burst into a laughing fit, keeping their tones at a mild roar so the nurse won’t hear them. They don’t notice a third person leaning against the doorway and staring at this exchange with a smile on his face.

“You don’t sound sick to me,” Tony says, “You guys playing hooky or something?”

The teenagers flinch at the unexpected outburst, with Peter releasing a relieved sigh. “I wish,” he says, “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, kiddo.” The older man walks over to his protege, taking Ned’s spot when he stands up. “Haven’t exactly had the best day, huh?”

Peter miserably shakes his head, relaxing at his hero’s fingers softly ruffling his hair. “I wanna sleep for like ten years.”

“Don’t we all,” Tony says, “How is it, how’re the growing pains?”

“Everything hurts.” The teen glances at his lower half. “But laying down helps.”

“Good, ‘cuz that’s all you’re gonna be doing when we get back.” Another growl erupts from the tyke’s stomach and Tony gently grabs onto that hand that’s still wrapped around it. “After we get some meat on your bones, that is.”

The young genius snorts despite himself. “Deal.”

Tony turns to Ned, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you, for trying to keep this guy in check.” He points to his playfully offended kid. “Can you stick around a few more minutes and help me get him in the chair?” The sidekick’s own stomach releases a noise of hunger. “And then  _ you _ get some meat on  _ your _ bones, huh?”

“I already have too much meat on my bones—”

“I said what I said.”

The billionaire rolls the wheelchair right next to the cot and locks it in place. He has his armor form over both hands and slides them under the boy while Ned slides his under his friend’s knee joints. On the count of three, Peter takes a deep breath and the other two transfer him to the chair as carefully as they can.

Once in a seated position, the spiderling exhales with a gasp, wincing at the throbbing pain from his calf muscles. Tony gives the other’s knee a light pat, softly shushing him while he unfolds the footrests. “I’m sorry, bud, I know it hurts. We’ll be home soon, alright?”

Peter wordlessly jerks his head with a nod, continuing to take deep breaths in an attempt to keep both the pain at bay and the shakiness in his hands from reaching a dangerous level. He rubs more sweat off his forehead and unshed tears from his eyes, the image of his bed at the lake house bringing him more anticipation than it probably should.

He feels a pat on his shoulder that he knows is from Ned. Despite holding his hand a few minutes before, he still craves the affection, the soft familiarity of his best friend’s touch helping him more than he can describe.

Finally, with a goodbye to Ned and signing out of school, Tony swings his kid’s backpack around his shoulders and steers the tyke toward the car, guiding the chair onto the ramp and into the passenger’s spot with almost perfect ease.

He doesn’t let go of his kid’s hand the whole drive home.

-

Peter has to use the transfer board to sit on the couch.

The object itself isn’t a big deal but it discourages him regardless. He hasn’t needed to use it since he was first learning how to maneuver right after his injury.

So the fact that he has to use it now, months afterward when he should be about recovered, causes his self-esteem to fall to an all-time low. His hands grip onto his kneecaps, not unlike when he was in the bathroom earlier, while his father figure wheels the chair out of the way. 

Tony props a pillow against an armrest of the couch and his kid, every so slowly, scoots until he’s right next to it. On another count of three, he takes a deep breath while his father figure lifts his legs to stretch out across the cushions, taking off his shoes and socks so his feet can relax. With the new change in position, Peter attempts to get comfortable against the pillow before the older man brings him some soup he quickly heated from a can and some hot tea in the hopes that it will help soothe his muscles.

“Thanks for picking me up and stuff,” Peter says between spoonfuls of his chicken noodle soup, keeping the bowl in his lap so his hands don’t have to put forth any effort to hold it.

“No need to thank me, happy to do it.” His mentor sits on the opposite end of the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table in front of them. “Let me know when you want another bowl, now.”

“I will.” The teenager looks up at the older man. “I’m sorry—”

“Why the hell didya go to school today?” Tony asks, his tone soft despite the phrasing of the question.

Peter groans in frustration. “I thought the soreness wouldn’t last this long, I thought I was just overdoing it on the physical therapy and once I got moving, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t until I got to school when I realized that it’s my legs trying to move again.”

“Is it succeeding?”

“Uh, kinda? They’re throbbing a lot but I can move them like a centimeter or-or something but it hurts so I try not to. You already know I can wiggle my toes, so actually moving everything has gotta be the next step, right?”

“Maybe, I gotta talk to Bruce on that one. And the arms?”

“They don’t hurt, they’re just weak-feeling, I guess. They’re almost numb, which is kinda weird.”

“Might be working ‘em too hard. I’ll talk to Bruce but it looks like you gotta be on bed rest for the next few days until all this passes.”

Peter groans into his soup.  _ “Lovely.” _

“Figured you’d be excited for that,” Tony says, grunting at the sarcasm.

“I just feel like I’m going backwards, y’know? Like, all this shit already happened in the beginning, why’s it coming back to bite me in the ass?”

“‘Cuz you’re not letting your body  _ rest, _ kiddo. Your body is trying to get better and your stubbornness is getting in the way of actually letting that happen.”

“I am?” A strike of fear filters through the boy. “Wait, does this mean I’m not gonna get better now—?”

“No, don’t put words in my mouth, I didn’t say that. You wouldn’t be hurting right now if that’s actually the case, so what I mean is: you don’t let your body rest, it’s gonna take a  _ lot _ more than six months before everything goes back to normal.”

“Which  _ means,” _ Tony continues, locking eyes with his kid, “You gotta stop pretending that you’re invincible all the time.”

The tyke hangs his head in shame, putting his now empty bowl on the edge of the coffee table. “I just—I wanna get back to normal  _ so _ bad, and, and I hate asking for stupid things that I never had to ask before all this. Like, Ned actually had to help me to the bathroom earlier ‘cuz it hurt too much to do it myself, how  _ humiliating _ is that—?”

“See that? That’s what I mean, right there. This pride thing you’re not letting go of is what’s holding you back. You’re over here trying to do what you can by yourself until it gets too much and you have to ask for help at the last minute. That’s what’s slowing down your recovery.”

“But—”

“And we know, we get it. You’re a human being and there’s uh, less than stellar tasks that we as human beings have to do and we know it’s embarrassing, we know no one wants to ask for that. But if you let your body take its course and let everything happen naturally, you might heal faster than you think.”

Tony reaches over and slowly lifts the other’s chin, a grin almost breaking out across the tyke’s face at seeing his father figure’s gentle smile. 

“So, my young grasshopper,” the mechanic says, “You want another bowl of soup?”

Said kid simply nods his head. “Thanks.”

“And what about pajamas, you wanna get out of those clothes?”

A faint warmth of embarrassment heats up in the spider-boy’s cheeks. He takes a glimpse at his arms resting limply on either side of him, his sore legs that he’s terrified to move. He then looks up at his hero. “I-I don’t know if I can put on clothes—”

_ “Pete,” _ Tony cuts him off with a snort, grabbing the soup bowl as he stands up. “Do you want pajamas?”

Said teen shamefully nods his head in defeat. “Yes, please.”

-

After his late lunch and another mug of tea is consumed, Peter is completely horizontal on the couch, now clad in comfy pajamas. He finds comfort in the fuzzy blanket that his father figure draped over him and his head is currently resting on a pillow that’s on said hero’s lap. The way Tony is ruffling his hair is causing his eyes to droop with sleep, only half paying attention to  _ The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _ rerun that’s on TV.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“How long do I gotta be on bed rest?”

“I don’t know, that’s up to what Bruce recommends. We’ll call the school and get everything situated so you don’t fall behind.”

“Am I gonna be here or at home?”

“You don’t consider here to be home?”

“Well yeah, but—” Without moving his head, Peter looks up at his mentor, noting the modest resentful look he’s sporting. “You’re not seriously offended by that, are you?”

The scientist slackens his expression, his cheeks turning into the faintest shade of pink. “No, uh, not at all. I mean, it makes sense, you don’t actually live here—”

“But I  _ do _ stay here all the time, though. I even have pajamas here, of course I call this place home. It’s just…” the boy trails off, not knowing what to say. 

He loves staying here, he  _ wants _ to stay here for the rest of his recovery but he’s also aware that there’s such a thing as  _ overstaying _ at places. If he’s going to be on bed rest, he’d rather spend it somewhere where he won’t have to worry about being annoying, or a burden.

However, he’ll be alone while his aunt is at work and since he’s going to need assistance with well,  _ everything, _ being alone wouldn’t be a good idea. 

But he’s also anxious about inviting himself over to Iron Man’s lake house. 

“Just what?” Tony asks, filling the awkward void of silence.

“It’s just, um…y’know, if I’m gonna be home for a while and, uh, like you said before, I’m gonna be needing some help and stuff. So, uh, c-can I stay?”

A proud beam spreads across said genius’s face, the skin around his eyes crinkling with what Peter guesses is hidden happiness.

_ Guess we were both nervous about this. _

“Already set up,” Tony says, lightly patting the tyke’s head before resuming the ruffling, “May’s coming over in a little bit and she’s bringing all your stuff.”

“Wait, when’d that happen?”

“On my way to the school to pick you up.”

Peter playfully scoffs, snorting in disbelief. “Adults really do know everything.”

“And then some.” The man’s face relaxes into a content grin. “I do consider this to be your second home if you want it to be. You’re at home, you don’t ever need to ask to stay over.” 

A bout of fuzziness floods the teen from his chest to his aching legs and feet, the sensation somehow making his predicament almost bearable. “You better not get sick of me,” he says with a smirk, “It’s all fun and games till I have to piss—”

“I know what I’m signing up for. Just know that when I’m 105, you better be helping me when  _ I _ have to piss—”

“Oh my God.” A laugh escapes the teenager. “I thought that’s what Dum-E’s here for.”

“Dum-E would just spray my ass with fire extinguisher fluid.”

A bout of laughter erupts from the two of them, loud enough that they barely hear the older Parker walk into the lake house. “Tony?”

“In here, May,” said man calls out with a wave of his hand, both heroes putting forth too much effort to calm down their giggle fit.

May walks through the kitchen and spots them in the living room, carrying her purse in one hand and a duffel bag strap resting on her shoulder. “What’s with you two?” she asks, a smile of her own forming across her face, “Do I  _ want _ to know?”

_ “No,” _ the duo says with another snicker. “Thanks for bringing my stuff, May,” Peter says.

“Of course, sweetie.” May puts both bags on the coffee table before kneeling to her nephew’s eye level, softly grabbing his face and rubbing her thumb against his cheek. “How’re you feeling?” she asks.

The younger Parker shrugs. “It’s been better since Mr. Stark picked me up. He’s spoiled me too ‘cuz now I don’t wanna get up.”

“Good ‘cuz you’re not supposed to.” The nurse looks down at his legs and feet, her face scrunched with worry. “How’s everything, how’re your legs?”

Again, her nephew shrugs. “Laying down helps but they’re still sore. Tea’s helped some too.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing, at least.” May takes another glimpse at the other’s lower region before turning back to him. “Can I try something?”

Peter nods his head, his eyebrows narrowing with curiosity. “Um, sure?”

“What’re you thinking?” Tony asks.

“Um, well, I don’t really know but I’ve done this with patients before and they seem to like it so, uh, here goes nothing.” She stands up and sidesteps to the opposite end of the couch. “Peter, honey, I’m gonna move your legs.”

Again, Peter nods his head, thankful for the warning. Tony’s ruffling increases while he takes a deep breath and in seconds, his aunt is sitting on that respective couch cushion and carefully resting the child’s legs under the other throw pillow, tucking the blanket under his feet.

Then May begins the best superpower to date.

She starts massaging her nephew’s calf muscles.

Peter can’t help the moan of pure relief that escapes him. The chill of his aunt’s fingers against his legs, the slow but soothing motions that put the teen into even more of a lull.

This.

Boy, did he need  _ this. _

Between his aunt’s massages and his mentor’s hair ruffling, the tyke’s eyes start to droop with sleep once again, making no move to fight back this time.

Is this being too spoiled? 

Probably.

But does he care?

_ Absolutely not. _

-

It took a while but Peter’s legs soon heal.

The bedrest made his everyday-life  _ so _ boring but it helped his body get acclimated and after a couple weeks of tea, rest, and a necessary investment in a heating pad, the pains finally start ebbing away.

And with that, Peter is able to function on his own: he can transfer himself from bed to wheelchair, toilet, couch, and back to chair and bed without any problems.

Especially since as of now, he can  _ feel his legs. _

Not enough to walk, of course, but he can slowly knock his knees together and spread them apart again. He can use his legs to help him transfer to his bed or the couch but Bruce strongly recommends not to put too much pressure on his lower limbs unless in physical therapy until Peter regains his strength.

The boy follows the instructions to the best of his ability but even he can’t deny how good it feels to be able to almost sidestep to sit back in his chair.

The resumed physical therapy starts light but grows rigorous the stronger he gets, the wiggling in his toes escalating to moving his whole foot, his knees, his  _ hips _ even.

And on one Saturday afternoon, it’s what Peter is waiting for.

Bruce gives him the go-ahead to stand and walk a few steps completely on his own.

The spiderling doesn’t understand the sudden panic that blossoms in his chest. This is what he wants, this is what he’s been striving for all these months, he  _ wants _ to walk again.

But what if he can’t?

What if all this work turned out to be for nothing?

Can he even do it? Is Bruce giving him too much credit, is Bruce overestimating him?

Is Spider-Man about to make a fool of himself and fall flat on his face?

“Pete?” 

Said kid looks up to see his father figure standing up from his chair on the other side of the gym. Tony walks over and kneels to his kid’s eye level. “Wanna take a whack at this?” he asks, keeping his voice low so Bruce doesn’t hear, “If you’re not comfortable doing this, we don’t have to. We can try another time, we won’t be upset—”

“What if I can’t do it?” Peter whispers, looking down in shame.

“Then you’ll keep doing what you’re doing until you can. That’s why Bruce wants you to try it out, we want to see how you’re progressing. If you can’t walk right now, that’s not a bad thing, it’ll just help us determine where we go from here.”

Tony reaches out and rubs one of his kid’s kneecaps. “So, what d’ya say? I’ll be right there the whole time, so you don’t need to worry about falling.”

His protege looks up at him, taking in the armored hero’s warm features that have a superpower of their own in making him feel safe and worth all the work that’s being put into his recovery.

The boy then reluctantly nods his head, a ghost of a smile etching across his face. “So, uh, what do I do first? I, uh, I forgot how to walk.”

Both of the older Avengers laugh at that. “Try and push yourself out of your chair first and we’ll go from there,” Bruce says.

Tony locks the wheelchair in place and folds up the wheelchair’s footrests before he stands back up, taking a few steps backward to give his kid some space.

Another bout of panic consumes the tyke. Here’s Iron Man and The Hulk, these two badass heroes and they’re watching him about to do something seemingly minimal like walking.

Logically, Peter knows it’s not minimal but telling that to the anxiety part of his brain is a bigger task than it sounds.

He lightly plants his sneakers on the ground and takes a few seconds to scuff against the foam tiles, letting himself get used to the soft flooring below him. The teenager grips onto each handle of his chair and after a silent count to three, he takes a deep breath and ever so slowly, he stands up.

The position is awkward since his hands are still gripped onto the chair but he keeps that stance for a few seconds to let his body get used to the change. The bottoms of his feet feel fuzzy as if they were about to fall asleep and Peter is just waking them up.

Once that weird sensation ebbs away, he swallows a nervous lump in his throat, and lets go of the chair.

He keeps his eyes locked on his father figure’s, his encouraging smile motivating him to keep going.

“How’re you feeling?” Tony asks, “Talk to me, how does it feel?”

“Uh,” his mentee takes a glance at his feet, “Like my legs are disconnected from the rest of me but like, not in a bad way?”

“Understandable,” Bruce says, observing from the other side of the gym, “It’s been a while since you used them, not feeling normal is expected.”

Peter nods his head in response, looking up at his father figure. “You won’t let me fall?” he says, almost in desperation due to how scared he is of this upcoming task. 

“No,” Tony replies, his tone somehow firm but soft at the same time, “Never. But take your time, no need to rush.”

The spiderling takes another few seconds to get used to standing, clenching and unclenching his fists in nervousness. With one last look at his hero, he lifts his right foot and puts it forward, his left foot soon following suit.

_ Everything feels…weird. _

His tennis shoes land on the foam tiles but that fuzzy sensation makes another appearance, making him feel like he’s hovering over the floor instead of standing on it. He takes another step towards Tony and he can’t help but grin.

He’s walking.

For the first time in almost six months, he’s walking.

His excitement fuels the task at hand and he quickly takes another step.

And another.

And another.

But the next step is a bit too fast.

Peter grunts at the unexpected trip and he finds himself stumbling forward, mentally preparing himself to faceplant on the floor but true to his word, Tony is right there to catch him.

“Jumping the gun there, huh, bud?” Tony says with a chuckle. He then carefully helps his kid back into a standing position, keeping tight grips on his upper arms. “C’mon, keep talking to me, how’re you feeling?”

The teenager sees the tremble in his fingers. He feels the heaviness in his chest that’s causing the multiple exasperated breaths he’s having to take. 

He’s taken not even half a dozen steps in yet he feels like he ran a marathon.

But he wants to keep going. He has to keep going because what if this magically goes away for some reason?

What if he wakes up tomorrow and he can’t walk anymore?

“I’m good, I’m good,” he says. He takes another deep breath. “I wanna walk some more, let’s go—”

_ “Pete.” _ Tony gives his kid an unamused look. “What did I just say?”

Said kid scoffs, his shoulders slumping in defeat.  _ “Fine. _ Maybe I’m just, uh,” Peter pauses to take another breath, “A  _ little _ tired.”

“Sounds like more than a little,” Tony says, “How ‘bout I help walk you back to your chair and that’ll get you a few more steps under your belt, huh?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Fine, but only because sitting sounds good right now.”

“Peter, that’s all completely normal,” Bruce pipes up from across the room. He takes a second to write something on his clipboard before he turns to the other two heroes. “Besides the fatigue, how are you feeling?”

“Honestly, excited,” the young hero says. A yawn escapes him as he continues, “I know you said this whole thing isn’t permanent but like, this is the first time it really hit me that it’s not.” 

A smile etches across the doctor’s face. “Stuff like this does tend to drag.” He gives his patient a light pat on his shoulder. “You’re almost there, kid, you’re doing great.” He looks up at the fellow Avenger. “I’m gonna go process my notes.”

“Thanks, Bruce, we’ll be out soon.”

When said man leaves the room, Tony helps his kid walk the few steps back to his chair and his protege almost plops in his seat, taking a few more deep breaths of air in pure exhaustion.

The billionaire kneels in front of the tyke and unfolds the footrests, rubbing one of his knees in comfort. “Ready to hit the hay for a little bit?”

His protege slowly nods his head, his still trembling fingers wiping his eyes with sleep. “Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“For real, how was that? Did I walk enough, was I too slow, did I forget something—”

“You’re gonna give yourself a headache, bud, relax,” Tony chuckles, “Pete, you walked today. It doesn’t matter how fast you went or how many steps you took, just focus on the fact that you’re actually  _ walking. _ For the first time in six months, you put your feet on the ground and walked by yourself.” His voice softens as he concludes, “Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?”

The boy’s cheeks heat up as his chest fills with the good kind of embarrassment.  _ “Mr. Staaaark,” _ he says, “Thank you, for all of this and stuff.”

Tony gives his kid’s knee a comforting squeeze. “No need to thank me, just doing my job.”

“Your job? Since when is helping me walk part of your job—?”

“I gotta look out for my number one, you know that,” the billionaire says with a smile. He lightly ruffles his kid’s hair. “I can’t believe that one day—very soon, mind you—you’re gonna come bouncing in here looking like you just drank ten of those  _ 5-Hour Energy _ thingies.”

“Literally counting down the minutes,” Peter says with a snicker but it’s cut off with a much louder yawn.

“And on that note.” Tony stands up and walks behind the wheelchair, unlocking it and pushing it in the direction of the gym door. “A certain spider-baby needs his beauty rest.”

“Since when do I look beautiful sleeping?”

“Every time you fall asleep. Pure artwork.”

-

After Tony helps him with putting on comfier clothes and tucking him into bed, Peter watches his father figure leave the room with a smile on his face.

It doesn’t falter when his eyes droop once again with fatigue.

Nor does it when his body finally succumbs to the nap it desperately needs.

And during this nap, Peter will dream of his own two feet, swinging around the buildings of Queens, walking to school with Ned, driving a car for the first time.

Because one day, those dreams will come true.

It just takes one step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! I'm also on [tumblr](https://baloobird.tumblr.com/)


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